“He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say anything bad about me. You’re lying. Everything has gone all wrong. You shouldn’t marry Miss Chandler. I don’t care how wealthy she is. You must marry Lady Winifred Woolfrey. She’s a much better choice. And we must have Miss Beaton back. We simply must.”

Birdie nodded vigorously. “We simply must. And we should have our musicale.”

West glared at them. “So, this is mutiny, then?”

“It’s not only us,” said Bernadette. “Cook is threatening to quit because of Sebastian’s accusations. And Fanny, one of the downstairs maids, has a dreadful wheezing condition that comes on in springtime and only Miss Beaton knows how to brew a special herbal tea that eases her difficult breathing.”

“Miss Beaton, Miss Beaton,” West exploded. “Bloody Miss Beaton! None of you will let me forget about her for even one second.”

“She was the peacekeeper of the house,” said Betsy. “She just has a way about her. We all want to be better for her.”

“Shall I go and tell her that you smashed a cricket ball through the window and nearly injured my fiancée?”

“You smashed a cricket ball through the window of our lives when you rearranged everything without consulting us,” said Bernadette.

“If Miss Beaton had been here,” said Blanche, “everything would have gone swimmingly. She would have given me a headache powder and coaxed me downstairs, then she would have enticed Bets indoors with the promise of cherry tarts, which would have been all delectable and ready to serve because Miss Beaton would have negotiated a truce between Cook and Sebastian.”

West inhaled deeply. “All right, all right!” He held up his hands in surrender. “You win. I’ll send someone round to her house with her back wages and an offer to double her salary if she’ll only return and keep the peace.”

Birdie clicked her tongue against her teeth. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all. You must go in person and apologize to her.”

“Apologize for what, exactly?”

“For whatever you said to her in the study to make her shout, slam the door, and run from the house without even saying goodbye to us.”

“It wasn’t like her at all,” Bernadette agreed. “You must have provoked her mightily.”

“Dukes don’t go chasing after music instructors and begging them to come back.”

“I miss her dreadfully,” said Blanche.

“She’s not only our music teacher,” Birdie said. “She’s our companion, and our confidante, and she’s . . . she’s our friend, West. Our dear, dear friend. We want her back.” Her lower lip trembled. “I—I want to perform at the musicale. I’ve been practicing my whole life for this moment.”

Oh, Lord. West could withstand anything but tears. “Don’t cry, Birdie.”

“I want her back.”

“Oh, very well.”

“Do you mean it? You’ll go and fetch her?” Bernadette asked.